


Trois Mousquetaires

by Xin0Lan



Series: You Have Always Counted [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Best Friends, Blind Character, Blindness, Friendship, No Slash, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xin0Lan/pseuds/Xin0Lan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I solves cases for a living John, now it's your turn. Solve it and you'll understand everything perfectly." With those final words, Sherlock latched on to his anchor and followed the doctor out to the circle of officers milling around. Lestrade walked in sync with Sherlock's deliberate steps. He casted sideways glances at John, the two holding an entire conversation with their eyes. The DI too wore a cryptic smile, but would not say why when John cocked his head with confusion.</p><p>"I know the answer Sherlock," Lestrade whispered into the taller man's ear,"I won't tell him, but the answer's too good to keep secret."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trois Mousquetaires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VesperL2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperL2/gifts).



> Please read Chapter 11 "His Mind Palace" to understand the reference of Sherlock blind "In Whose Eyes?"   
> Completed story on Fanfic under same name: currently merging all work onto this site. Please be patient. Thanks!!  
> Published on Fanfiction: 31 Jan 2015

**Trois Mousquetaires Parte I**

**This is for you, because I promised you one with "tres mosqueteros y sin el hombre y su mujer"...and I speak French not Spanish...I know not to trust Google Translate, but I hope the meaning comes out okay.**

* * *

Bearing the heel of his palms into the sockets, Sherlock massaged his eyes roughly trying to drive out the excruciating pain.

"Sherlock,"John tried to wrestle his hands away, but the man shrunk from the touch,"Don't! You are only making it worse. Stop. It won't help."

"No John! Leave me alone, yes it does. Rubbing helps. I don't care if it makes it worse, it's not like it'll ever get any better." He laughed scornfully, tilted his head back, and stumbled backwards to lean on the cool brick wall. Sometimes the orientation of his head took the pressure off the painful points. It really was a nuisance, and this wasn't the the first time the blinding pain stuck him whilst on a crime scene.

It slowed him down considerably... Stupid transport failure.

_... Blinding pain...well it certainly does live up to its name..._

"Sherlock, here. Move to your left a bit, there isn't debris there. Slide your back against the wall to sit on the cement blocks." The doctor gently guided his friend to rest against the wall giving him some sort of bearing amidst a cluttered crime scene.

Lestrade had long already sent all the extra personnel to wait by the cars and begin preliminary paperwork the moment Sherlock started to become agitated. No one wanted an audience when compromised, and no one dislikes uncalled for audiences more that Sherlock. Lestrade knew, so he took initiative to prevent injury to his friend's well-being and protect his personal life from being the source of lunchtime gossip. The cruel lunchtime gossip of the Yard ranged from one end of the specturm to the other on things that were trivial to down-right highly classified.

"Here mate," Lestrade produced a wet kerchief from his shirt breast pocket after dabbing some water on it, "The coolness will help." He applied the cloth over Sherlock's face and looked to John for what else they should do to help, to which the doctor mumbled to "just wait it out".

Slowly by slowly the pain started regressing and Sherlock was able to focus on something other than the burning pain. The coolness of the cloth help distract his mind from trying to focus on anything specific. Even with a face still contorted in a certain degree of discomfort, Sherlock tried to sit straight, but was held back by two firm hands- one from each of his friends crouched beside him.

"No. Stay. Just rest. There is no rush." Lestrade ordered in a whisper, "Wait a bit longer."

* * *

This pain Sherlock frequently experienced was of unknown origin or cause, but happened all of a sudden started to presented itself. So, it needed to be examined, thus, unwillingly he visited several highly recommended ones in the specialised profession of eye diseases from a list provided by his "brother dear Mycroft". The various visits did not serve much benefit to either party; one side ended up terribly upset and insulted whilst the other party was angry for not receiving a clear solution to the problem or a means to rectify it. Many ocular specialists pinned the pain origin as some place on the links between the eyeball to the rest of the internal cranial organs.

_Like you're of any use to me!? Even I know that and I am merely a humble and lowly graduate chemist with an interest in human anatomy/physiology. Why did I even bother waste time with your "expert opinion"?_

Sherlock remembered being called in for post-examination diagnoses one time and listened to the specialist explain the diagnosis in his accented English with traces of Asian pronunciations, "Due to the your present steady decline of perceivable, the signals between eye and brain are not communicating effectively. Therefore, this lack of message relays..."

Sherlock zoned out nearly immediately, the specialist was just like all his colleges who rambled on in some watered-down version of the medical diagnoses, but Sherlock stayed for John's sake because the dear doctor understood the unspoken words in the medical jargon the specialist tried to cleverly hide. The two doctors were engrossed in deep conversation about the details of advancing science and medicine so much so that he didn't want to drag John away from that.

In truth there wasn't anything to hide at all. There really wasn't a definite cause nor solution to the problem. It was just an unfortunate circumstance that came upon Sherlock ever since he was a mere zygote**.

After spending another ten minuets reclining against the wall, Sherlock attempted to move again and was welcomed with two strong arms hoisting him upright instead of pinning him down.

* * *

"Steady on mate," Lestrade cautioned as he held fast to Sherlock's shoulder. "Bit dizzy?"

The man grunted, so John interpreted as "No" and asked the next question, "Want to finish the case now or later?"

"What?" his head suddenly jerked up and stared straight ahead with words just rolling off his lips in lightening speed, "Sorry, was thinking. Were you talking? I heard noises. I tend to zone out if they're dull noises. We're still at the crime scene. I've solved it. Sorry, got a bit carried away. Had to file everything away in my Mind Palace. Did you have a question?"

Rolling his eyes sarcastically, John patted his friend on the back, "Good to have you back with us again, though I don't miss your pointed jabs. Could work on that, you know? Be a little nicer?"

"So you DO know the criminal? By jove, that is wonderful. Care to enlighten us mere mortals? Be much obliged if you did so good sir," Lestrade mocked with false airs causing his two companions to snicker ungracefully loud.

"You're terrible at pretending Greg,"John quipped and gave him a manly punch on the arm, "Nice acting though. But seriously, Sherlock. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Do stop fussing over me. It's not as if that inconvenient occurance was the first you two ever witnessed. It was the gardener. Just look at the layout! Can't you see exactly were he tread and how he thought 'how clever' he was to scuff up the area and make it look confusing." Sherlock gestured in the general direction of victim and of the debris strewn in complete disarray.

"Wow! How could you see that Sherlock," John wondered with such amazement, "I didn't even finish describing the track marks all over the wood and concrete before you were otherwise occupied. How could you have known what the scene looked like?"

Sherlock smiled.

John smiled.

Lestrade was speechless.

Sherlock smiled, a genuine smile that reached his whole face, and even though blind, his eyes still were just as expressive if he had sight. It was a rare occasion for the man to display such an amount of true, raw and completely honest sentiment. For John and Lestrade to both be recipients of it only proved the friendship of the three even stronger, as true expression was only saved for the ones he trusted most.

"You didn't need to finish, I solved the case before you started describing the other half of the room. John. If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success? I'll leave you to ponder that."

He smiled again, only this time it was a cryptic one.

"I solves cases for a living John, now it's your turn. Solve it and you'll understand everything perfectly." With those final words, Sherlock latched on to his anchor and followed the doctor out to the circle of officers milling around. Lestrade walked in sync with Sherlock's deliberate steps. He castted sideways glances at John, the two holding an entire conversation with their eyes. The DI too wore a cryptic smile, but would not say why when John cocked his head with confusion.

"I know the answer Sherlock," he whispered into the taller man's ear,"I won't tell him. You should do that, if he doesn't guess it. Don't leave him wondering. The answer's too good to keep secret."

"Don't worry. He will deduce the answer soon enough. I am certain of it."

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Trois Mousquetaires Parte Deux**

* * *

_You didn't need to finish, I solved the case before you started describing the other half of the room," Sherlock faced him," John. If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success? I'll leave you to ponder that."_

_He smiled cryptically then continued softly, "I solves cases for a living John, now it's your turn. Solve it and you'll understand everything perfectly."_

_With those final words, Sherlock latched on to his anchor and followed the doctor out to the circle of officers milling around. Lestrade walked in sync with Sherlock's deliberate steps casting sideways glances at John, the two holding an entire conversation with their eyes. Lestade knew the answer, but wouldn't say._

* * *

Concluding everything related to the case, Sherlock and John bid the Yarders goodbye and accepted Lestrade's offer to drive them back to the flat.

All the while, John turned over Sherlock's cryptic words over and over in his mind.

_What does that man mean!? I don't know what he says half the time because he rambles so fast and the other half of the time I can't follow his train of scattered thoughts. He said, 'If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success? I'll leave you to ponder that.'_

_What does he want me to do? Figure out how he solves a case with his eyes shut? He did that already, countless of times on those "dull old unsolved" cases Greg would bring over to stave off his boredom. We worked out a system long ago when he first received his diagnosis, it's a good system. I observed the details of the scene, Lestrade read the reports, and he conjures up the answers with that massive (sometimes egotistical) intellect of his._

_I just don't understand how he can actually accurately describe something that he can't actually see or know even exists because I haven't told him about it yet, let alone figure out the motive and criminal before I've finished talking. I'd tell him again, but his head is already puffed out enough. He really is just simply amazing, to connect all the dots that no one else could accomplish._

"Sherlock," John tapped the man's arm, "Will you tell me? What's the reason to your success?"

"No."

He simply said "no" and looked out the window, didn't provide any explanation, and just denied his friend the answer to the simple question.

"Why not? Come on, tell me please? That's your job to solve cases, I don't do that sort of stuff." John pressed the man for information, hoping to receive more than just one word answers.

"Wrong. It's OUR job to solve cases. We do 'that stuff'. You've an intelligent brain John, use it. The answer isn't as elusive as you think it is. Don't make it complex, it's not so."

Poking the good detective inspector on the shoulder from his seat behind the driver side, Sherlock warned, " and don't give him hints Lestrade."

"Won't breathe a word of it, promise Sherlock," he reassured glancing through the rear-view mirror to watch the man's satisfied expression.

"This really isn't fair, Greg! Why are you taking his side?" jabbing his finger at his currently annoying best friend, "How could YOU possibly know the answer to his ambiguous comment about solving cases without actually knowing the crime scene? Did he let you in on this 'little case' to test me?"

"Nah. Not a test mate," Lestrade talked to John through the rear-view mirror, "Like Sherlock said, don't make it complex. The answer is staring you in the face. Think about it. I'll say no more on the subject."

"Fine. Be that way, both of you." John glared out the window for the duration of their ride.

_Insufferable fools, making me riled up about some silly brain-teaser. I'll get them to slip up soon enough and tell me the answer. After all, they both said the answer was simple enough._

* * *

The three trudged up the flight of stairs and each flopped on their respective pieces of furniture, Lestrade taking the sofa.

"Thanks for the lift mate, care for a cuppa?" John stood up immediately after he sat down.

"Sure, why not. I've got time now the case is done thanks to you two." He followed John to the kitchen and started looking for tea making supplies.

Meanwhile Sherlock hastily announced he would bring back Chinese take-away dinner, and not to do anything unintelligent while he was away, with the latter comment directed to Greg about dropping hints.

"Ok, thanks! Same to you, don't do anything unintelligent! See you soon," John answered as Sherlock skipped lightheartedly down the last few steps and straight out the front door.

Donning the beloved Belstaff coat and pulling out his white cane, Sherlock boldly sauntered off to the restaurant a few streets away.

John smiled to himself, he felt like a fool for doing so, but in truth the reason for the smile was far from a foolish one.

"What's got you so worked up now?" Greg prompted taking in John's happy expression whilst setting the kettle to boil.

The doctor was so engrossed in his reverie that Greg had to tap three times for his attention. "Sorry, what?" he answered without thinking.

"You sound like Sherlock now when he decides to un-zone himself out from the world," Greg commented remembering John's exact words to the consulting detective from earlier at the crime scene.

"Oh, yea...very bad habit," bowing his head in shame, "His fault. I learnt it from him. Working on not doing that. Sorry, didn't mean to be rude. I missed your question, please repeat."

"I said, 'What are you smiling about, thought of something pleasant? I want to know what that was."

"Oh that," John leant against the counter top and crossed his arms, a little laugh escaping his lips before he contained, "Well, it's nothing really. Just that whenever, I see Sherlock go anywhere, I'm reminded of what things were like before they reached this point," he gestured to Sherlock's chair, "You saw him waltz out there in one fluid movement. He wasn't like that months ago, remember?"

Greg nodded solemnly, reliving the memories of frequent times he dropped by the flat for supper and Sherlock insisted on gluing himself to "His" chair all night.

"Yes, he didn't like moving, much less going out places. He only went where you went, insisted you stay right at his side for his every waking moment outside the flat. However, that really hasn't changed, you know, he still prefers your companionship over anyone else."

"My point exactly, he wouldn't leave my side, now now he does, like now for example. Whenever I see him so self-assured I remember he wasn't like that. It just brought back a happy thought to the day he announced his request to go somewhere alone. He left in the same manner he did just now. Buttoned up his Belstaff, whipped out that white cane, and waltzed right out the door without a single hesitant step in his stride."

"And I remember the day," Greg added without missing a beat, "Sherlock marched into the Yard with the cane in hand and not latched on to you. You," he said pointedly, "couldn't keep that Cheshire-grin off your face all day."

John ducked his head and slight looked embarrassed at Greg remembering that particular detail, "Yea, I was just really proud of him for finally not needing me any more. I mean, he still prefers to take my elbow if we're in on a crowded street, or in some rickety old abandoned house as the crime scene, more for safety precaution than anything else, but generally speaking he likes his independence. I wouldn't ever want to be a hindrance to him."

Unexpectedly a hand reached out and clamped on to John's shoulder, thankfully the uninjured one. It startled the man so much that his head jerked up in confusion, not realising fully what had just occurred.

With a perplexed look, John opened his mouth to ask why he was being gripped so tightly, but Greg merely held up his hand to let the question die on his lips, his mouth still gaping open like a fish out on land.

His face did not show his usual calm and pleasant state of mind, rather it almost looked sad, like some one had deeply offended him.

"John," he at last spoke in a very tender voice, one the doctor had never heard him use before at all,"perhaps you are the blind one. Not Sherlock. Why can you not see what is clearly laid out in front of you? Give me one solid reason you think you're a hindrance to Sherlock's independence, and heaven forbid, unwanted by that man?"

Greg could see the mental gears in John's head fall of their axles from being jolted to a sudden halt with such a loaded question.

Unable to provide a single word of disagreement John resigned to closing his mouth, thus which the wiser and older man continued, "Now do you understand why Sherlock said 'the answer isn't as elusive as you think it is?'

Trying to comprehend then entire dialogue, John nodded slowly but still didn't really see the answer clearly.

The shrill whistle of the kettle broke the stiff ambiance.

Not a moment after the tea was poured, Sherlock came in the same fashion he had left, waltzing right into the sitting room arms loaded with multiple take-away container. Deftly avoiding the edge of the rug and the sharp table corner, he deposited the parcels on the kitchen counter and greeted his friends.

"I'm pleased to see you two didn't do anything outrageously unintelligent during my brief absence," then held up a box of chicken fried rice, "Starving?"

 


	3. Parte Trois

**Trois Mousquetaires Parte III**

* * *

Three men with fully bellies lounged lazily on the assorted furniture in the sitting room jabbering away in some trial nonsense jumping topics left and right. All of a sudden, Sherlock righted himself sitting ramrod straight and planted his feet firmly.

"John. Describe the place for me," he asked politely.

"Why? Sherlock, you know what the flat looks like. Do you want something specific?"

"No. Nothing. Look at the room for me, start in the far corner by the door. Treat it like a crime scene."

Lestrade and John exchanges shrugs, neither knew what game he was playing.

"Okay. So in that corner is the poor sad wallpaper with the six bullet holes and right of it is the floor lamp stand with a defective bulb and faded lamp shade, then there's..."

By the time John had described half of the area, Sherlock spoke again,"Good. Now it's my turn to see for you. Close your eyes and don't cheat, Lestrade's vision is just fine, he'll tell me if yours aren't closed."

"Fine, they're closed," he turned to face the two men squarely,"See Lestrade, closed. Happy Sherlock?"

"Yes, now picking up where you left off. There is the rug with the top left corner curled up, and the fringe is nearly worn down shreds. The table on top looks in the same condition as the rug. Worn out thoroughly with several scratch marks, missing spots of varnish, and a cup ring stain from when you left your iced drink out on the wood too long..."

Little by little Sherlock worked his way through all the other pieces of furniture. John had started describing the each specific areas under his breath before Sherlock even had a chance to finish his sentence. Strange of all was the fact of John not being aware he was mumbling away, so Sherlock let his voice trail off when John started detailing the black leather chair so beloved by the consulting detective.

Sherlock simply sat there and stared at his best friend wondering how much longer it was take him to solve 'this case'.

"John," he looked straight at the man, "Did you realise you started speaking when I was telling you the layout of this room? In fact toward the latter portions, you beat me to describing the details."

Amazed by his own unknown actions, John covered his open mouth with surprise, "I can't believe I did that. I honestly didn't even know I was doing that. Wow, guess I could see what next you were going to describe based on what you had already told me, so I just unintentionally spoke it."

Making no comment to John's, he simply repeated the original question again "John. If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success," then leant back in the chair drumming his finger on the armrest waiting for his best friend to finally realise the answer.

Greg gave him a pointed look and silently mouthed, "it's obvious."

"Well...," John started then paused.

It finally dawned on him.

"Oh," was all he said and sank deeper into his cushion contemplating the depth of Sherlock's point. Finally those cryptic words made sense..."what might you deduce as the reason for my success?"

_Sherlock! I don't know what to say in response to that. I...I never knew you thought of me like that? Thought of us like that. I really am the blind one, like Greg pointed out. I've always made it my point to let you do whatever you wanted as long as it was with in reason and safe, I just assumed you like doing everything yourself..._

"Well," Sherlock prompted, waiting for John to explain his understanding of the situation, "I want to hear you say it."

"Sherlock, I don't know what to say. I... I...wow...never ever thought of our being together like that, especially when at crime scenes," he suddenly felt the impulse to hug his best friend.

"That's not what I want to hear, you know what I want. Tell me," he countered tapping his foot softly on the rug.

As John pulled the man up into a firm hug then whispered softly into his ear, "I am the reason for your success."

"Yes you are," breaking the hug he stared straight into John's eyes and spoke clearly, "YOU are the reason for OUR successful streak on every single case. I taught you how to observe as I once could, so now you know exactly how describe every detail with such precision. Due to your well-worded detail specific observations, I am able to visualise the rest of the area and plot out a map of the area."

"So that's how you solved the case with only half of the scene. Half of it you "saw" and the other half you "assumed". I understand now why you had me describe the flat," he guided his friend back to sit down. Taking his chair, he pointed a finger to Greg accusingly, "How on earth could you have known the answer to his question from the start? He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Oi! Nope, man didn't say a word, I just knew. I've always know. That was simple question, anyone could answer that in a heart beart, well anyone and everyone except you. Honest and true, I would wager majority of the Yard could have told you the answer," he chuckled and patted Sherlock's back in a manly manner, "There, I told you I wouldn't say a thing. Well, I did start dropping hints, but poor sod didn't catch on. No offense John, but I would have thought you might as least caught on when I became adamant in disproving your incorrect thinking on being a hindrance or unwanted."

Now Sherlock chuckled, much to John's embarrassment, "You amaze me constantly with your silly thoughts on non-consequential subjects. Really now, hindrance and being unwanted? I recall hearing those words on occasions past. Who put those thoughts in your mind?"

Not letting his friend get a word in edge-wise, he rambled on quickly, "As far as I'm concerned at present, none of your current friends or dear wife feel that way about you. So, that only leaves one option left. You concocted those outrageously unintelligent, stupid, demeaning, worthless, and simply wrong notions to clutter your mind! I thought you said you need mind space for important things. John. If you choose those idiotic notions for filling up space, then I suggest you listen to my brilliant ideas of committing the entire Tube lines, bus routes, and map of London roads to your memory, those will serve you a much better purpose."

By the time Sherlock finished his soap-box speech, he was no longer sitting, but towered over the smaller man pressed tightly against the back of his chair looking slightly worried and a bit on the petrified spectrum. He did look rather flushed and lacked his cool, nonchalant finesse because of just finished jumping all over John's erroneous thoughts.

_Never thought Sherlock would get so defensive about anything, turns out I'm wrong. He's lost his temper countless times, especially when I picked him off the streets from his terrible lifestyle, helped him return to becoming a decent and respectable British citizen. However, this is the only time I know of to date in which he looses his calm demeanour over a topic like this. In the past it was lost over drugs, arguing with Mycroft, but never about this!_

"I'm sorry Sherlock," John squeaked out, "I didn't know you would be so worked up about it, I was wrong. It is a stupid thought, I don't know what I was thinking. It won't happen again, promise."

"Good. Make sure you keep it. Now give me your hand quick, it's coming again." Sherlock grasped one hand on John's forearm to steady himself. Not loosing another second, both him and Lestrade sprung from their places and guided their friend to lay on the sofa.

_Again with these blasted excruciating headaches_!

They came at such inopportune moments, but for once he felt a very tiny amount of pleasure for it to present itself.

_Now John has a chance to prove to himself he will never be unwanted or a hindrance to me._

It was his last thought before the pain sucked him into a state of unconsciousness. John couldn't help but notice the faint smile on his best friend's face as his doctoring side took over. Greg saw John smile because he notice the smile. So he smiled too.

_Tous pour un, un pour tous._ (All for one, one for all.) -Charles de Batz de Castelmore d'Artagnan.

* * *

**For those that are not familiar with "Les Trois Mousquetaires", it is a French adventure story written by Alexandre Dumas Pere about three men (Athos, Aramis, Porthos) and their new friend (D'Artagnan). They are the _M_ _ousquetaires de la maison militaire du roi_ _-_ Royal musketeers of the French monarchy. D'Artagnan isn't initially part of it. He later does join the regiment, and Athos servers under him for a time being. Read the book. Find your language. :)**


End file.
